


Checkmate Ends the Game

by miriad



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriad/pseuds/miriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without fail, the Captain chooses to sit with you. Every meal you share in the mess, there is the Captain, tray in hand. You would hesitate to say that the Captain looks eager but the thought has crossed your mind. What you simply cannot comprehend, however, is why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate Ends the Game

1\. Without fail, the Captain chooses to sit with you. Every meal you share in the mess, there is the Captain, tray in hand. You would hesitate to say that the Captain looks eager but the thought has crossed your mind. What you simply cannot comprehend, however, is why.

The Captain appears to take great pleasure in making you uncomfortable, or at least, trying to make you uncomfortable. He makes jokes at your expense and uses sarcasm at completely inappropriate moments.

You take some measure of satisfaction in the fact that you long ago learned how to not react when presented with behavior intended to elicit a strong response. It is much more satisfying to see an aggressor frustrated at your lack of response than to give them the kind of reaction that they are expecting.

The Captain, however, does not react in a manner consistent with the boys that you grew up with or the classmates that you studied with at the Academy.

No, the Captain simply smiles and laughs at almost everything you say. After a while, it stops feeling off-putting and you begin to look for his face when you walk into the mess. At one time, you chose to eat alone, at least that is what you told yourself, truth or not. Now, you are no longer alone but you still do not know why.

 

2\. The anniversary of your mother’s death is approaching with what feels like increasing speed, although you know that the passage of minutes and seconds has not undergone any change at this time. It would be unwise to base your observations on the idea that time is a constant, especially when you know that to be inaccurate.

You think about alternate universes, one where you might have traveled back in time and changed the order of events. The results of that day. The small boy you barely remember being, the one that exists in the back of your mind, cries for his mother and you know that he would have at least tried to make things right.

But you aren’t certain what “right” is. And you do not believe that it is your place to make changes to begin with. Who are you to decide what is the correct outcome and what is not?

And yet, the boy cries and you think about the way things might have been. But you keep it to yourself.

 

3\. Uhura does her very best to stay as unemotional and rational as a human being possibly can but she has moments where all she wants from you is some kind of human, emotional connection. And you are not sure that you can provide that for her.

You are not sure that you WANT to. Wanting is irrational and irrelevant but the question persists in your head as she asks for more and more from you, even thought she doesn’t say a single word about it.

She hovers. You know the word, understand the concept. Your mother was, after all, human.

Uhura wants it to be soft. Gentle. She wants you to share what you’re thinking. She doesn't say it but you know that she wants to ask you how you’re feeling but refrains, as it would be rude. Her desire to understand your cultural heritage is honorable but her need oozes out of her, choking you with her humanity in a way that you have always dreaded and had always known was coming.

 

4\. The Captain is agitated. He is angry. Even you can tell that he is very much not himself. He is alternately stomping around the corridors of the ship or sitting in the Captain’s chair, body stiff and taught. It is causing tension amongst the rest of the crew.

As long as the Captain performs his duties and does not put either the ship or the crew in danger, then you do not care how he conducts himself. This opinion is not shared by all of the Enterprise’s command crew.

Uhura speaks to you, privately. She’s pulling on her high boots, brushing a strand of hair from her face, not looking at you at all, when she mentions it.

“I think the Captain is in trouble. Something’s wrong.”

You tilt your head slightly, trying to run through all the scenarios in which Uhura actually cares about the Captain’s mental state as well as any reason why she would believe that you are the best person to deal with the situation.

“I have noticed the Captain to be of a much sharper temper but I do not see-“

“You have to talk to him. He almost bit McCoy’s head off in sick bay earlier today. I’m worried that he’s going to do something stupid and take the rest of us down with him.”

There is more to Uhura’s concern than what she has spoken of. You can see it in the lines around her eyes, in the tight press of her lips (lips that you recently were biting at, kissing). She did not, you can tell, want to say anything to you at all but she did and that says more than any words that have actually come out of her mouth.

You wonder why she wouldn’t want to share this with you. You wonder but you don’t. You know. You can be cold. Unfeeling. You struggle to remain aloof and apart from the mass of humanity that makes up the crew of the USS Enterprise. Why would you care? Caring is a feeling and you prefer not to have them. Or so the story goes.

Uhura trusts you. She is in a relationship with you, whatever that means for the two of you. She spends the night in your bed, shares her body with you as well as her intellect. She has chosen you as a partner, even if it is only temporary. It is logical that she would choose to confide in you.

“I will speak with him.” Your voice is steady and even. You speak the truth, even though you wish it were not so.

“Thank you, Spock.” Dressed now, she steps close to your body and leans in, kissing you lightly on the lips. She does not touch you anywhere else. You read a quick series of thoughts from her- worry, concern, love and sadness. You are not sure which are directed at you and which are not. You aren’t sure that it matters.

 

5\. Talking to the Captain evolves into a sparring session in one of the recreational gymnasiums. The Captain goes directly for the long staff and you follow suit. He says nothing to you, just growls and dives, staff flashing through the air.

Your body responds and you move without thought, as you were taught, twisting and ducking to avoid the quick slash of the weapon.

The Captain is surprisingly fast and skilled with a staff. With a phaser and with his hands, the Captain is skilled and ready at a moment’s notice. You did not expect him to have any formal training in any other weapons. You are pleasantly surprised. That does not last long.

Normally, you would outmatch him. Your strength and skill far outweigh his but he is letting his emotions get the better of him. The Captain is angry, more so than you have ever seen him and that lends more force to his blows, more speed to his attacks.

You do all you can not to hurt him, not to answer his jabs with real hits. All the while, your brain filters through the information that you have on the Captain to determine just why he is so angry. Before you can allow yourself a moment to process, things take an unexpected turn. You land a blow that he should have easily dodged.

The Captain takes the hit to his chin in stride, smiling with a glint in his eyes that you’ve seen before. There is danger there but you aren’t sure to whom or at what it is directed. You’re fairly certain, however, that it is not directed at you. The Captain's anger is never really about you, although you’ve spent enough time on the sparring mats to make others on the crew begin to wonder.

The Captain seems to want nothing from you. There seems to be no purpose to his actions and behavior and yet, he persists. You don’t trust this, as you have a certain amount of experience with the Captain and you know the man to be devious and a well trained liar. But the Captain has never lied to *you*, not since Vulcan at least, so you don’t press. You, quite frankly, do not want to know.

Until the Captain manages to concuss himself. You don’t even land a blow, the Captain simply stumbles on his own feet and while attempting to stay on his feet, he smashes his face into his staff with what looks to be the full force of his body at the moment. His lip splits open and his teeth are bloody, eyes not dilating evenly, so you call Dr. McCoy.

The Captain sounds drunk when the doctor arrives, waving his hands and muttering something about how it's all going to plan perfectly.

Dr. McCoy shares a look with you, each of you with an eyebrow raised, mirror images of the other. After a brief moment, the Captain continuing to talk to himself on the floor between you, Dr. McCoy motions for his orderlies and they lift the Captain off the floor and onto the gurney.

“Spock? Buddy, you there?” The Captain can’t see you from the gurney, now hovering out in the hallway. You allow yourself a small sigh and follow him out into the hallway.

“I am here, Captain. You have been injured.”

“I know that, Spock! I just… do you know what’s coming up? Do you?”

Dr. McCoy makes a noise that sounds like a chicken and the orderlies push the gurney down the corridor. The Captain’s eyes are wide open and he looks at you like you hold all the answers. Perhaps he believes that you do.

You know now, as though the information was downloaded at this exact instant, just what has angered the Captain. They are mere days away from the anniversary of the attack on the Kelvin. It is clear that the Captain has not forgotten the date.

Now you know. You simply do not know how to use that information in the most efficient manner possible. You follow the gurney to sick bay, the Captain’s voice a trail to follow, even if you didn’t know the way.

 

6\. On the anniversary of the attack on the Kelvin, one week later, you find yourself pulling a drunken Captain out of a bar on Vegos VII, away from the hoard of admirers who, no doubt, had less than the best intentions for his virtue. You have to peel numerous pairs of hands, male and female, off of his shirt and out of his pants just to get the Captain away from the booth.

The Captain can barely walk so you grip a handful of the back of his pants and lift, leaning forward to slide the his arm up and over your shoulders. It’s a bit awkward but it does the job. You parked the shuttle not too far from the red light district so the walk isn’t a long one.

The Captain’s head wobbles a bit on his neck, finally tipping to the side, resting on your shoulder. You look over at the Captain in all his inebriated glory and find that he does not seem mind the contact.

The Captain wakes up just before you can lower the shuttle’s shields and get you both inside.

“What the fuck, man?” The Captain tries to push away from you but finds that you’re too tangled up together for his push to be effective. He struggles a bit against you so you loosen your hold on the Captain’s pants, letting him fall to the wet pavement. He grunts as he lands and looks up at you with narrowed eyes. “Seriously, just, what? Why are you here?”

His tone of voice implies an accusation but you are unaware of anything current that could have transpired between you that would cause such animosity. You raise an eyebrow and meet his stare directly.

“You did not arrive at the crew rendezvous. I believed it to be prudent to determine your whereabouts and retrieve you before the Enterprise left orbit. Also, you requested that you be retrieved should you fail to make check in.” You don’t flinch or fidget. You have many years experience standing still for long periods of time. You can wait as long as you need to for whatever happens next. The Captain is a superior officer, by rank if by nothing else. You choose to honor that, at least for the moment.

“Whatever. I was having fun.” The Captain coughs, rubs at his mouth and looks away, giving you a clear view of the creeping blush moving steadily up the back of his neck. He is clearly lying but you refrain from mentioning that point.

“My orders, from you, were very clear. Fun or not, it is time to leave.” You do not reach out a hand to help the Captain stand, letting him wobble a bit when he finally finds his feet.

“Whatever. Get me back to my ship.” The Captain stops mere centimeters from the shield, not running into it as you had assumed he would but waiting for it to be lowered, as if he could see it surrounding the craft. You press the security code into the tricorder and the shields drop with a faint rush of wind. The Captain presses the hatch release and weaves his way onto the small ship, leaving you out in the cool, wet night.

You give him a minute, then follow him onto the shuttle. He has taken the co-pilot’s seat, the restraint already secured.

As you lower yourself into the pilot’s chair, you ignore the Captain as best you can. Which is more difficult than you’d would like to admit. The Captain smells of fruit and strong spirits as well as the musk of a variety of male and female persons, from the bar or so you assume.

The Captain keeps looking at you, his eyes narrowed and wary. Waiting. Waiting for you to say something, anything, about how unprofessional he's behaved. How he doesn't deserve the title or the position.

You know all of this because despite your Vulcan heritage and your inability to be subtle about social cues, you understand exactly where the Captain is coming from. He's in the same place himself. You do what you can to not be a hypocrite.

It is difficult to find the logic in the aftermath of losing a loved one. In losing a parent. And based on the behavior of the Captain, it does not matter how much time has passed since the loss, it is still not a burden that is easy to carry.

So you say nothing and let the Captain stew in his own anger. He eventually passes out again, against the shuttle wall.

The flight is fairly long, the atmosphere difficult to navigate. You could have taken the transporter but that would have alerted a lot more people to the Captain's condition and that would not have been logical. The Captain needs and deserves respect on his ship. You, despite your issues with the Captain in the past, would not purposefully destroy his reputation now.

You use a private com line to call for assistance. Dr. McCoy made it clear that he would be waiting for the Captain to return to the ship. You dock the shuttle and wait for him to arrive in the shuttle bay. The Captain is still asleep. His face looks younger, although you know that is illogical. He looks at peace. It is odd to see the Captain so still, so quiet.

The thought crosses your mind that you are worried about the Captain but you do not allow yourself to worry. That being the case, it must be something that you ate earlier in the mess that is causing the gastrointestinal distress that have plagued you since the Captain missed check in.

You make a mental note to ask Dr. McCoy when he arrives.

 

7\. The chime on your door sounds approximately thirty minutes after your shift ends. You are not expecting Lt. Uhura, as she has decided that you need space. There is a vast amount of it outside of the ship but you know that isn’t what she means. You did not disagree with her, which only seemed to make things worse, and she has not spoken to you outside of her regular shifts since.

You would never say it out loud but you are grateful that she is gone. There is a sense of relief inherent in the loss of the expectations that Uhura had placed on you. You wonder, for a brief moment, what your mother would have said about that. What she would have felt. The fact that you will never know sits heavy in your stomach.

Beyond Uhura, there isn’t anyone else that would visit you on your off hours. You frown as you rise, telling the computer to open the door.

The Captain stands on the other side, a three dimensional set in his hands. He smiles at you and shrugs his shoulders, stepping into your quarters without waiting for you to invite him in. You frown but step out of his way as he heads directly for the small table where you usually have your tea.

“Up for a game, Spock?”

“I am standing, Captain, but I am not sure how that would affect my desire to play a game with you.”

“You’re doing that on purpose. I get it. I do. Come on, play with me.” The Captain pulls out one chair and motions toward it with one arm. He sets the three dimensional chess set on the table and takes the opposite seat.

He sets up the pieces with an ease that begets a deep familiarity with the game. The set is not new, you notice, the edge of the board showing a few nicks and cuts on the surface. You hesitate for only a moment longer, then you take the offered seat.

You do not point out that this is your room and it is your table. It would do no good. The Captain has a habit of taking what he wants, when he wants it and in your experience, he usually gets his way in the end. He would also, you know, remind you that it is his SHIP and that argument has simply gotten old.

“I did not know you played, Captain.”

“There are many things about me, Spock, that you don’t know. But you’re learning. You’ll get there.”

“I am not sure where ‘there’ is, Captain.”

“I’ll let you know when we get there. I’ve got your back.”

The Captain smiles at you, teeth white and shining, blues eyes sharp and knowing. He reaches forward and moves his first piece without looking away from you.

“Your move, Spock. Make it a good one.”

You feel it on your face, the corner of your mouth turning up. It may be a smile. You aren't sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 undermistletoe Harlequin Challenge, title: Rebellious Rake, Innocent Governess
> 
> I was trying for light and lighthearted and failed. A lot. Connected to my prompt in a very roundabout way. My first attempt at writing Spock since I was about eleven.


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